A Hell of a Prize
by linctaviatrash
Summary: Octavia of the Sky People demands her hard-earned prize.


Character study through smut. Dunno how accurate I have these character down yet.

Set between Lincoln's escape and the sex scene cause...there has to be an in-between right?

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><p>A loud huff leaves his body as she settles above him, straddling his hips with a crooked grin and a raised eyebrow.<p>

"I win," she declares and there's a certain cockiness he's yet to see from her so far. He decidedly likes it and the move with which she bought him down was very good so he remains pinned underneath her, enjoying the view.

There's a the faint whistle of the wind outside his small home and though the fire keeps them warm, there's a breeze that enters through the crooks of the earth that warns him winter is coming. He's bought extra furs in preparation and at the far end of the room, he's stored enough wood to last him for a few weeks. As the days get colder, he's going to have to increase his storage but for now, he feels confident with what he has.

Octavia tosses her hair over her shoulder, her spine straight and with an air of regality. It's an aura that takes years to wear confidently and his clan's commanders are taught from the womb to wear it as a second skin. It looks good on her, he thinks, as she looks down at him and grounds the swell of her ass into his hips.

"As the Victor of this great and long battle, I demand a prize."

There's a sparkle to her eyes, dark in the firelight and hooded as she bears down at him. She crosses her arms as she waits for his answer, her breast bunching underneath her camisole.

"Whatever the lady wants," he responds shortly, and watches as her eyes roll upwards, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in thought. She's a playful creature, Octavia, and he's still not used to the games she plays. Battle has never been a game for his people, defeat was not something you take lightly, even if it's just training, and certainly demands of prizes are never asked so politely, only taken. And yet, Octavia is perched on top of him, looking very much regal and wild, with her hair tied is a haphazard ponytail with the firelight throwing shadows across her body, seemingly deep in thought of what a good prize would entail.

"Killing you would be too easy," she mutters, still looking away in thought and fighting off a smile. He tries not to look offended, despite the fact he knows she's playing.

"And I don't think you have any riches you could give me," she glances down at him, poking him in the chest with a slender finger, "do you?"

"None, lady."

"Thought so."

Octavia sighs deeply, as if the world has given her a heavy decision to make.

"Octavia of the Sky People is ruthless, you know," she cocks that eyebrow again, "and if there's nothing the loser can give me…"

He gives a disgruntled huff, balking slightly at the word 'loser'. The many tattoos on his body tell a completely different story and he has half a mind to remind her exactly what they mean but she still looks smug and sleek on top of him, looking very much like an overly-pleased owl so instead he decides to follow her game.

"I could offer you something better than riches and death," he tells her, large hands coming to rest on her thighs, warming her even through the fabric of her pants and the touch is enough to send her heart racing. She wets her lips in anticipation and it all but ignites the fire growing in his belly. He continues.

"If this offering pleases the Great Victor of Battle, will she consider the debt repaid?"

Her fingernail scrapes down his chest, traveling down to where the patch of hair beneath his navel disappears beneath his trouser. His breath catches.

"Perhaps," she whispers.

He sits up, careful not to jostle her much, and captures her lips in his. She doesn't know what he's planning but she finds she doesn't care much. It might be incredibly stupid to trust someone she just met so utterly, especially someone who had once captured her and bound her but she's long learned that life has a lot of unexpected surprises in store and who is she to turn them away? Not when such surprises involved his hands splaying on her back like this, the feel of his callouses against her spine, not when her fingers could trace the scars along his shoulders, or inhale his scent of leather and earth.

He settles her back against the furs, tracing her jaw with his tongue, kissing her cheeks and eyes and feeling the way her fingernails scrape down his back, not hard enough to hurt but it does remind him of how it felt when he first got the tattoos running down down his spine.

She cradles his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the bristly hairs covering his jaw and she smiles sweetly at him, lips swollen and moist. Her small hands travel down his neck to his chest and with a wicked smile, she pinches the side of his breast hard enough that he lets out quite an undignified yelp. He catches her hand and glares at her but the laughter that bubbles out of her is free and easy and he's sure that the gods have forsaken him for finding her lovely and perfect and forgiving her almost instantly.

"Well?" she huffs impatiently, "where's my prize?"

Lincoln shuffles down her body but keeps his eyes on her, studying her face for any sign of distress. He's not sure how well versed she is in the act of love but he's not going to be the one making her uncomfortable with it all. He raises her camisole to expose her stomach and begins to drop kisses all over it, listening intently to her breathing, or lack thereof as he travels lower and lower.

He fingers the buttons on her pants and looks up at her.

Her face is slightly flushed and her eyes are already glazed over but she nods at him, and she ponders again why she's so ready to willingly give in to whatever he gives her.

He sets off to relieve her of her boots, then her socks and finally her pants and underwear. The rustle of clothes is loud in the otherwise silent space and her breathing gets louder and louder in her ears as she lays half naked before him. Her legs close tightly by their own volition as he removes the last piece of clothing but the coiling in her stomach makes her ache and throb.

He starts with the tops of her feet, his unshaven jaw scratches the otherwise untouched skin and she lets out a giggle before she can stop it. It does the trick and settles her nerves enough to open her legs slightly and allow him more access. He smiles as well and presses more kisses along the bone of her calf and then rubs his face in the sensitive spot behind her knee that has her kicking him and laughing. He continues his kisses on the other leg, all with a smile that rarely crosses his face and lower and lower still.

Octavia feels like she's out of breath. As soon as she landed on this forsaken planet, she's packed a lot of her teenager years into a few days. Kissing boys had been one of the highlights of her new life though making her own decisions (at last) really did take the cake. But kissing Lincoln was not like kissing those other boys. There was a seriousness that went along with everything he did; he was earnest with every touch he gave her. While she fumbled against his lips with the clumsiness of being new to something and in everything else she did, he steadied her enough to build her confidence; that she had been able to take him down like she did today was a true testament to this fact.

She wasn't sure she loved him yet. Other than her brother, she didn't know much about what it felt to love another person. And if love was to blindly trust another person—well, she wasn't too fond of it. If love was to constantly worry about the well-being of another person—-again, she wasn't happy with that. But she did all those things and more with Lincoln and it felt so out of her control that it scared her. Though truth be told, it also excited her.

Because as stupid as it was, she really _did_ trust him, and her trust was allowing him to kiss that crease where her thigh folded into her hip and trust was what allowed her other leg to swing unto his shoulder without a second thought, wanting to pull him closer, and closer still. She swallows, her eyes closing in anticipation, her stomach trembling with need but his lips stopped there, in that damned crease and didn't seem to go to where she wanted.

She huffed irritably, opening her eyes to glare down at him. Obviously it wasn't too dangerous of a glare; she could feel her eyes crossing since she had to look down herself at him and his serious eyes turned fond at the sight.

"Well?!"

"You're fine with this?" he responded, infuriating her further. She used her other leg to kick his back with her heel.

"Get on with it!"

He shrugs in response and lands his lips on her lower stomach, just on top of her curls and though it feel great and she's sensitive to his lips on her bare skin, she lets out a growl of annoyance.

"Octavia of the Sky People is not a patient woman," she says through gritted teeth, "will you hurry?"

He breathes a laugh against her stomach, sending goosebumps up and down her body but finally,_ finally_ travels down to the spot where she's aching to be touched.

Her hand flies to her mouth to clamp down the noise coming from deep in her throat. It's involuntary and completely connected to what his tongue is doing and she barely feels her other hand landing on the back of his head, demanding more.

Then her back is arching against the furs, her toes scrunching in the air, and the sounds she's making don't seem to be coming out of her. This is a completely new sensation, as enjoyable as his kisses but with a definite tang of despair as she grind against him, seeking something, _anything_ to alleviate this novel feeling in her stomach. She's very much aware of his strangled noises for Lincoln is _not_ a vocal man and it only helps to egg her on; she responds to every grunt with a whine, every shaky breath with a gasp of her own, and she scrapes her nails behind his ears to get him closer to her. It goes on and on indefinitely; time seems to have warped her senses and it's going both too fast and too slow for her.

She knows she's chanting his name and a muted part of her worries if he's able to breathe with her thighs clamped around him like that, but then he inserts a single finger in her and all coherent thoughts fly out of her head to make space for that new sensation. She nearly starts sobbing when he starts thrusting his finger in her but its enough for her to know that the ending is near and if he continues just a bit longer, she'll be able to taste the completion with her entire body.

It feels like the moment she and the rest of the 100 were hurled into the earth's atmosphere, like a moment where she could either die or live, all hanging on the balance of this one period in which her body trembles and sweats. It's a promise of a new Octavia—or rather, a promise of knowing yet one more thing exists in this world whereas she didn't know before. It's a moment where his free hand leaves her thigh and wraps around hers and behind her clenched eyes, stars implode and her body trembles and shakes, entering into a new atmosphere, a new world.

It takes a few moments of ragged breathing for her body to unclench. She wearily opens her eyes to see him lapping at her, savoring her, and then rest his cheek on her thigh.

"Lincoln," she sighs, her voice hoarse and she's just noticing how scratchy her throat is. She must have been real loud, she realizes, cheeks turning red at the thought.

She sits up and beckons him to her, kissing him and tasting only herself on his lips. There are no words for that.

"Good prize?" he asks, his hands cradling her face as he gifts her with a triumphant smile that lights up his face beautifully. She realizes that there are no words for that, either.

"A hell of a prize."


End file.
